Page 13 of Knot Your Sugar Rush
“Hey,” he says, eyes scanning the kitchen. “Whoa. This is... impressive.”
I glance around. There’s sugar on the counter, three half-filled baking trays, a rack of failed caramels, and one valiant pan of fudge that actually looks edible.
“Don’t judge me,” I say. “It’s controlled chaos.”
Jamie chuckles, stepping inside and letting the door ease shut behind him. He’s wearing jeans and a soft flannel shirt rolled at the sleeves, and there’s flour—or maybe sawdust—on his forearm. Of course he looks unfairly good in a kitchen I’ve turned into a war zone.
“I came to check if Dane scared you off,” he says, walking over to the island.
“He definitely tried.” I offer him a teasing smile, then turn to the tray of raspberry chews. “But I’ve survived worse. Like these.”
He picks one up, sniffs it cautiously, then pops it in his mouth. His eyebrows lift.
“Hey. That’s good.”
I squint at him. “Really?”
“I wouldn’t lie about candy.”
“Well, good, because I’ve got four more for you to try. But you have to be honest.”
He pulls up a stool, resting his forearms on the counter. “Hit me with your best shot.”
I serve him a sample plate, moving through each recipe with growing self-consciousness. But Jamie? He’s fully present. Tasting, considering, giving actual feedback—sometimes even funny commentary.
“This one could use more salt.”
“This one is hiding something... orange zest?”
“This one tastes like heartbreak but in a good way.”
That last one makes me laugh—and wince a little.
“It’s Zae’s,” I say quietly, nodding to the honey crunch.
Jamie nods, his expression softening. “The famous twin.”
I nod, stirring the caramel again so I don’t have to meet his eyes. I’m not surprised he knows. He’s older than me, by maybe almost as ten years, but it was a small town and her story had made the front page.
People remembered everyone who died, especially when plucked away before reaching twenty.
“She was the brave one,” I say. “The loud one. The one who always believed everything would work out.”
There’s a silence, but not the awkward kind. The kind that’s full of space—space to breathe, to remember.
“She loved this recipe,” I continue. “Even when it failed. Said it had personality. That sometimes, you have to be a little unpredictable to be interesting.”
Jamie’s hand brushes the edge of the counter near mine, just a breath away. “She sounds like she was amazing.”
“She was.” My throat tightens. “She was everything.”
Another quiet moment. I feel the tears threaten, and I blink hard, forcing a smile.
“I’m sorry,” I say, stepping back. “I didn’t mean to dump that on you.”
“You didn’t.”
I glance at him.
